Work Text:
They sheltered in a mushroom copse.
It was so thick that once Emily's outer curve was under cover she was wedged, but that same close growth kept them dry when the storm cracked.
“This is nice,” Scorpia said to Emily.
Emily's panels flashed. Scorpia couldn't hear.
Scorpia patted her.
It was curious how she felt, alone, lost on the shifting paths of the Whispering Woods. It wasn't unsafety. She knew unsafety; put it away each morning with every other doubt. It was something else. Something else.
Scorpia watched the leaves move, and was clear inside, same as the rain.